Questions
by Momosportif
Summary: Team Tiedoll ficlet. Tideoll POV and death fic. Tiedoll finds his answer in the questions of his students. Two say goodbye and one says hello. Characters are Hoshino's as ever :D. Please read and enjoy!


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Question

It doesn't hurt

It doesn't hurt. My face is very wet but the drops are pooling in folds of skin at the edges of my smile. A father should never have to bury his children and that is why they can hit me four thousand more times and the sore blood flooded bruises and free flowing holes of tender sliced skin and tissues will never hurt. Not now or ever from this point on in time.

I remember.

Daisya would always ask when.

When can I, when will it, when won't it, when will we get there?

He would tug my sleeve and tug my arm and we'd tug our hair for too many whens. And if answered he'd sigh and find dangerous ways to amuse himself until I returned the ball with "When will you learn patience?" only to barely fail to block the goal when "When I don't have to wait" was bounced right back.

He and time were ever at odds.

When he died, I cried because he didn't have to wait anymore. When it was over I cried because I did not even get the honor of burying my child. Now he is when and everything else and I'll be blind again when I met him once more.

Marie would always ask how.

How can I, how will it, how won't it, how does this work?

He would take apart and take away and we'd be taken aback when we found the skeleton of our tent where sleeping space once had been. And if answered he'd think and process before picking up the tune again with "But how does _that_ work then," forcing me to reach octaves far beyond my range with "However it wants to work" and sometimes little more than "How indeed?".

He had trouble passing stones best left unturned.

How he grew left me in quite a sizeable shadow both literally and figuratively. How he grows leaves my hands now, hands blissfully clean for a child I won't have to bury. Now he'll learn how to cope and I'll learn the how of a voyage one must always discover in solitude.

Kanda would always (and never) ask what.

What can I, what will it, what won't it, what does it mean?

He would point at this and point at that until we'd point at the bookcase and then at a certain book and say 'dictionary'. And if answered he'd sit and scowl and puzzle until I lunged with "What did it mean?" only to find him safely beyond the arch of my swing with a "Nani?" I could scarcely block with a stunted response in Japanese.

Language was ever our joint opponent.

What he heard was always triple what he said so what he thought was anyone's guess. What he felt and what he feels will never be public knowledge, it's buried deep by the roots of a flower my fingers dreaded terribly I would have to pry dry and dead from the earth (for Kanda was the child I could never bury as he was deep in the ground before my ankles had sunk in). Now I can cry because I never saw him find what he was looking for and I still cry because I never knew what his hometown looked like, he could never have had a sketch.

And I remember as the door breaks down and the shadows flee for their lives that I would always ask if. I remember as my children reach my side, if then when, if then how, and if then what, as I'm guided to the ground and then held up by strong arms.

"How did this happen? How do you feel? How long do we have?"

"What can we do for you? What hurts the most? What were you thinking? What were you thinking?"

All of my children are here and I know it looks bad, there is blood with the tears pooled in the folds of my skin at the edge of my smile, but "How long for what, Marie? If I don't go now, when will I?" it doesn't hurt. "It doesn't hurt, right?"

All of my children.

"When are you coming?"

And I laugh. "When these two learn patience."

"No, wait, we just need to stop the blood flow. What can we-"

"How do we manage internal bleeding-"

"Gensui, wait!" I squeeze the arms supporting me and close my eyes so their fingers will have one less task, so the hands of my children can have strength to bury their father.

"Gensui, you don't have to wait."

And I cried.

"I'm here, Daisya."


End file.
